Jabba's Forgotten Slaves (Salah)
Ch.1 (Intro) Female outlaws were a common sight out on the lawless fringe of the Empire. In the chaos following the end of the Clone Wars and the Jedi Rebellion, banditry reached unprecedented levels. Any sentient who could fly or fix a starship and wield a blaster when necessary could carve out a niche in the underworld regardless of gender. Salah was part of the new generation of young outlaws who flocked to try their luck in the Outer Rim. While most of her peers discovered that their personal luck would not stand up to a vibroblade to the gut or an Imperial customs officer who did not look kindly on an empty credit account, Salah's downfall was particularly unfortunate: her career ended on the pads and cushions of Jabba the Hutt's throne, and Salah ended her life wearing the chains of the underworld's greatest crime lord. Salah grew up in the rough and tumble suburbs of a spaceport on a nondescript Mid Rim world. As she grew into a rugged beauty, Salah learned the value of a well-timed wink and a slight caress. For trickier situations, Salah also learned the worth of a kick to the groin or a blaster bolt to the eye. By the time she reached 18 Standard Years of age, Salah was known among the taverns and spice dens of the spaceport as the Silent Beauty, a stone-cold vixen who struck fast and never missed a punch or a shot. It wasn't long before Salah signed on with a small time mercenary crew and left her homeworld for good. For the next decade, she floated among various pirate gangs and soldiers of fortune populating the hyperlanes of the new Empire. Her fame never reached that of the galaxy's great mercenaries, but she was a solid choice for a crew leader on a budget. Salah' last gig came as part of the Mighty Mynocks, a mercenary crew who provided "security services" for interstellar transportation companies. The name was dumb, but they paid well and the runs were easy. Even the dimmest scum in the galaxy knew to steer clear of Jabba the Hutt's property. In between shaking down local merchants and minor barons, the Mighty Mynocks spent most of their downtime (and income) at Jabba's massive palace on Tatooine. Most female spacers, however, avoided the place. Jabba's palace was an unpredictable place for anyone, but for women it was hostile at best and dangerous at worst. Nearly all of the women a visitor encountered were dancing girls-beautiful females of several species "employed" under dubious contracts. Wearing next to nothing at best, they danced, served drinks and food, and gave private "dances" to guests who paid Jabba for the privilege. Most concerning to female visitors to the palace was Jabba's practice of keeping at least one of his "pretties" chained next to him on his throne at all times. He typically lavished his attention on one particular favorite girl, but other slaves would wear his leash when the favorite was taken back to the Dancers Pit for exercise, cleaning, or other reasons. During the months Salah spent with the Mighty Mynocks at Jabba's palace, she witnessed firsthand the sadistic attentions Jabba lavished on his favorites with a detached contempt. Even when Jabba inevitably dropped his favorite to the rancor beast below the audience chamber, Salah would only look on with a smirk. These girls are weak, she thought to herself, Look at me, I don't cower in fear of all these men just because I'm a woman. I've earned the respect I get. These whores are pathetic. So it went during the Mynocks' stints at Jabba's. Salah quickly earned the respect of the palace regulars (after a couple broken noses), and life continued on. She drank with the crude men who surrounded Jabba, gambled with them, and caused uproarious laughter when she pinched a serving girl's ass or fondled a pair of barely-contained tits as their owner bent over to refill her drink. Then, 8 months into her employment with the Mighty Mynocks, circumstances changed. Ch. 2 Bad Business "Well, well, the bitch wins again." Salah flashed a predatory smile as she gathered up the pile of Sabacc cards lying on the table in front of her, kicking up a cloud of Tatooine dust as she did so. "If we keep this up, I'll have enough to buy the Mynock, and you'll be stuck flying short haul puddle jumpers out of Mos Eisley." Jehmes Rixxer, the short, portly pilot of the Mighty Mynock, took a sip from his drink and leaned forward in his chair. "Not the worst job. There's a village over in the Timur System that makes an incredible grain alcohol." Jehmes looked up and gestured to the room around them. "And you can't beat the vacations here." It was a lazy early afternoon inside Jabba the Hutt's palace. The dim interior lighting never changed during Tatooine's day-night cycles, but experienced spacers had their own ways of telling time, and Jabba kept to a predictable rhythm. The slug-like crime lord, as per usual, was attending to the mundane requirements of a Galaxy-spanning enterprise. He huddled with his Twi'Lek majordomo, Bib Fortuna, the two of them pouring over datapads and credit chips. Salah could occasionally hear a contemplative rumble through the accumulated noise of half-full audience chamber. A busty Mirialan slave girl danced in the center of the open floor in front of Jabba's throne, between the Hutt and the house band playing in its alcove at the head of the room. The band was playing a slow, soothing number featuring chimes and Tanamese bells (Jabba had been on an exotic percussion kick for a while). The girl stayed stationary, swaying her slim hips and waving her hands in the air. She wore a bikini-style top covered with shining gems and similarly-jeweled threads dangling from the bottoms of its cups. The bottom of her costume was a short skirt, not even covering her entire ass. She stared with sad eyes into the space above her Master as she danced. The chain connecting her to her master gave soft, rythmatic clinks as she swayed. Salah turned back to her shipmate. "Yes, the smell is the best part. Hundreds of years of sweat, spilled booze, and Hutt breath." On his dais, Jabba took a break from his document review to watch his dancing girl with eyes cloudy from boredom. TOPLESS, the massive Hutt rumbled at the dancing girl. The Mirialan girl, as if expecting just such a command, reached behind her back and with practiced fingers removed her bikini top and swing it away from her body in one motion. As her ample breasts spilled free, scattered applause and laughs emerged from the many alcoves and corners of the chamber where palace courtiers where enjoying their day. Jabba himself grunted in approval and turned back to his work. Salah finished off her drink and set the cup down on her table. She tossed her head toward the dance floor. "Sometimes I wish I had tits like those." Jehmes' fleshy cheeks reddened and he looked down at his cup. "I think yours are fine." "So you say every time we're in bed." Salah laughed as Jehmes squirmed and looked around as if to see if any of the assorted scum in the tables around them were eavesdropping on his sex life. Salah giggled and waved her empty glass to a passing human serving girl. The red-headed human, clad in the tiny bikini top and g-string bottom Jabba preferred in his common slave girls, bent over and refilled Salah's glass with red wine. "Thanks, girlie!" Salah called out to the slave girl as she scurried over to the next customer who needed a drink. Salah knew she looked good. She kept herself in top physical condition (the term was "hired muscle" for a reason), and she believed in subtly showing off her body. She wore a simple black tank top, exposing her sinewy arms and just a hint of her modest but firm cleavage. The tank top ended just before it reached the top of her khaki combat trousers, showing off her flat midriff. Her trousers were intentionally baggy-let men imagine her toned ass and legs. Salah's dark brown hair was pulled back in a simple, short ponytail, and she wore no makeup even though she could easily accentuate her blue eyes. That was how Salah liked to look. Hints of sensuality, but never going overboard. It wouldn't do to look just like that slave girl, who had no choice but to swing her melons around for Jabba and the crowd. "Where's the skipper?" James asked, craning his neck to look over Salah's shoulder. At first, Salah thought he was trying to change the subject, but quickly realized that the Captain and leader of the Mighty Mynocks was nowhere to be found. "I don't know." Salah took a sip of wine, "He said that he'd heard rumors Jabba's was going to give us a bonus. Maybe he took the money and ran." She was only half-joking. She had learned to keep close tabs on her cut of all Mighty Mynock jobs. Their Rodian captain had a habit of making "arithmetic mistakes" when dishing out credits. THE MUSIC. Jabba's booming voice drowned out the soothing music, which the band quickly ceased. Salah turned and looked toward the Hutt's throne just in time to see him pull on the Mirialan slave girl's chain. EITHA. Jabba drew the girl too fast for her to grab her discarded top, and the Mirialan had to clamber back onto the throne with her breasts still hanging free. NOW SUMMON THE MIGHTY MYNOCKS FOR RECOGNITION. Jabba declared into the silent throne room. The Captain was the first member of the Mynocks to reach the floor in from of the Hutt Lord. The short Rodian practically pranced his way to the dais, bowing nearly to the floor with a flourish of the garish red cloak he loved to wear. Salah looked at Jehmes, shrugged, downed her wine, and stood up to join the skipper. The other members of the Mighty Mynocks were filtering in from their revelries. After a few moments, 14 mercenaries (with Salah the only female) stood facing the Hutt. Salah found herself in the front row of the group once all the shuffling and jostling was done. She kept her head up but tried not to look at the bloated Hutt barely six meters in front of her. She had always found Jabba almost impossible to directly look at. He was covered in a glistening slime, his hands and lips sporting numerous warts and lumps. Even at times like this, when he wasn't energetic or aroused, steady streams of drool leaked from Jabba's mouth. Salah didn't think she would ever get used to Hutts. Trying not to disrespect the Hutt by obviously looking away while waiting for him to address the group, Salah looked over at the topless Mirialan girl halfway down Jabba's throne, as far as her leash would go. To Salah's surprise, the slave girl was looking right at her, and the two made eye contact. The Mirialan dropped her gaze almost immediately, her green cheeks turning a shade or purple as she blushed. The slave pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to her chest, covering her breasts. The slave girl's reaction to Salah's gaze was curious. From what Salah had seen, the girl had grown used to be displayed in various states of undress, and Jabba had "trained" her not to cover herself. Could it be because I'm a woman? Not many of those around here. Is it embarrassing, girlie, to see a free woman, one who can keep herself from being in your position? A bleach from Jabba caught Salah's attention, and with a start she realized the Hutt was speaking. HAVE BROUGHT DOZENS OF BUSINESSES INTO MY PROTECTION AND NEVER LOST A SINGLE SHIPMENT YOU WERE SENT TO GUARD. WELL DONE. The Captain positively beamed at hearing Jabba's praise. He stood up as straight as a Rodian could, "Thank you, Exalted One, for your..." WAS NOT FINISHED. Jabba's reptilian eyes narrowed. YOU SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT 16 MINING COLONIES WHO AGREED TO PAY JABBA THE HUTT FOR PROTECTION, BUT OF WHOM I HAD NO KNOWLEDGE. The Captain stammered something back, but Salah was not listening. She turned around, looking for Jehmes, and nearly knocked the short pilot over. "What's going on?" She kept her voice down, trying to hide the sudden dread growing in her gut. "I-I-I don't know." Jehmes was shaking his head, eyes wide with growing fear. MILLION CREDITS, CAPTAIN! THAT IS HOW MUCH YOU STOLE FROM ME. Jabba growled, a sound like gravel being poured onto stone, and his slave girl cringed and shrank back until her chain was straight and tight as an arrow. The Rodian was quailing now, shrinking back, trying to find something, anything to say. “We didn’t know! It was all him! You double-dealing bastard!” That was the Mighty Mynock’s first mate, a hot-blooded Zabrak. He pushed through two crew members toward the Rodian, but the tip of a vibroblade appeared in the middle of his chest before he could get there. The Zabrak went down face-first, and a swarm of Weequay and Gamorrean guards descended on the crew. Salah had not even noticed the brutes maneuvering themselves into position. The bastards could be slippery when they wanted to be. Salah ducked the first piglike guard who tried to grab her arms, delivering a sharp kick to the creature’s knee. She heard something pop and the pig-guard squealed in pain. She spun, looking for an opening. If she could get to the doorway… Something hard and unyielding slammed into her gut, and Salah doubled over in pain. Her vision doubled, but she thought she could see a scowling Weequay standing over her, aiming the butt of his vibroaxe for the knockout blow. “Don’t touch her!” Jehmes threw himself in front of the Weequay just as the vibroaxe came down. The butt of the weapon connected with the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch, and the chubby pilot fell to the floor in a heap. “No!” Salah forced herself to stand up, only to stagger right into the arms of a waiting Gamorrean. She kicked and thrashed, but the brute had her pinned. There was no leverage to find. She was caught. ENOUGH! Jabba roared. Hs Miralan slave girl had managed to clamber over his tail and was hiding behind her master’s bulk, her chain looped over across his body. The guards had subdued every member of the Mighty Mynocks. In addition to the first mate, three lay dead or dying on the floor. The others were each pinned by one or more guards. Jehmes moaned as two Weequay hoisted him to his feet, blood streaming from his ruined nose. TIME, CAPTAIN, HIDE YOUR ACCOUNTS BETTER. Jabba gave a dismissive wave. THEM TO THE DUNGEONS. I WILL DEAL WITH THEM LATER. The guards began to haul the prisoners away. Salah scuffled along, her breath almost back. “Jehmes! Jehmes!” She whispered, trying to get a response from the pilot. His head lulled toward her, but he said nothing. The Captain was babbling again, something about paying Jabba back. Salah glanced up and saw that a large crowd had gathered, probably everyone in the audience chamber. It had been a difficult show to miss. THE GIRL. Jabba’s deep voice cut through the commotion once again. HER AROUND. Salah’s “escorts’ halted and spun her around. Her boots slid across the floor and she glanced up at the hideous slug. He had drastically shortened the length of the Mirialan girl’s chain. The topless girl was back in front of his belly now, glancing around the room with apprehension in her eyes. Jabba’s own yellow eyes were wide with excitement, and he stared directly at Salah. She had never felt so small in her life, and she did not fail to notice that a fresh wave of drool was pooling at the corners of the slug’s mouth. What Jabba said next caused Salah’s entire body to go numb. HER TO ME. Ch.3 (A Change of Employment Jabba the Hutt reeked. The smell of rot and slime was everywhere in the palace, but in the bubble of space close to Jabba's throne, it was overpowering. Salah staggered forward toward the waiting Hutt, pushed along by a shove in the back and a beefy Gamorrean hand on her left arm. Behind her, the other surviving Mighty Mynocks were being hauled into the dark hallway, destined for the palace dungeon. Closer to the action, three dead mercenaries and a whimpering pig-guard were lying on the floor next to (and in one case, on) the decorative viewing grille above the rancor pit. Mixed in with the blood and bodies was the shiny, jeweled bra that Jabba's Mirialan slave girl had dropped seemingly hours ago. The diamonds on the cups gleamed even in the dim overhead light. Salah had little time to reflect of the juxtaposition of beauty and death, however, given what she was being driven toward. Jabba sat waiting with open arms-literally, his flabby arms were spread wide, and with a gurgle of anticipation, he licked his lips with his rubbery tongue. Bib Fortuna, Jabba's majordomo, stood next to his master and behind Jabba's drink tray with a wicked grin on his wrinkled face. If Salah had gone numb when she heard Jabba call for her, her body went cold at the sight of Fortuna's leer. Salah had seen exactly what Jabba liked to do with young women, and Fortuna's look told her that Jabba's thoughts were no longer on a simple punishment for a merc crew. nononono thiscan'tbehappeningthisisn'thappening! Salah winced as her knees crashed into the lip of Jabba's throne directly in front of the crime lord. Jabba had pulled his Mirialan girl back against his stomach. The flab there rippled every time he breathed. The girl herself was directly at eye level with Salah, and the only thing keeping Salah from toppling into her was the Gamorrean's hand on her arm. Just as Salah was catching her bearings, Jabba's laugh came booming down from above. HO HO HO HO. This time, the bare-breasted Mirialan girl held eye contact with Salah. The girl's eyes were soft with sympathy, but also wide with fear. Few of Jabba's favorites survived long after their master starting singling out other girls for special attention. As the two terrified women held each other's gaze, Jabba's wart-covered hand extended down and cupped the Mirialan's right breast, massaging it hard enough for the girl to silently wince. She knew better than to protest. AT THAT MESS. SOMEBODY CLEAN THAT SCUM UP. CHOP UP THE BODIES AND TAKE THEM TO MALAKILI FOR HIS RANCOR MEALS. Jabba's breath was even more rancid than his ambient smell. Salah coughed and turned away, prompting a very slight head shake by the Mirialan girl as Jabba's hand continued to grope her right tit. MY LITTLE PET SEEMS TO HAVE LOST HER TOP SOMEHOW. BIB, HAVE YOU SEEN IT? The Twi'Lek turned his sadistic grin on the two women, "I think one of your guests may have accidentally ended up with it during the confusion." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. That got a laugh from the crowd, which was gradually pressing in closer, but keeping a respectful distance from their master and the servants hauling away the discarded bodies, weapons, and cleaning up the spilled blood from the brief fight. Jabba's reptilian eyes shifted back to his slave girl. DON'T YOU ASK PRETTY SALAH IF SHE HAS SEEN IT? The slave girl closed her eyes and shuddered, mouthing what almost looked like a prayer before looking back to Salah. "Have you-" she started to speak on Basic, but Jabba hauled on her chain. She coughed and choked for a moment until her master relented. YOUR MASTER'S LANGUAGE. The girl gulped and stammered in broken Huttese, you seen my top? Salah knew this was all a game. Hells, she probably knew that better than the poor girl in front of her. But there was no choice but to participate. Never in her decade-long career had Salah felt so helpless "No I haven't." Salah's voice croaked and broke. Her mouth was dry and her jaw was shaking. Jabba gave another deep laugh. ASK MY GUESTS, LOVELY LIPKA. The green-skinned girl gave Salah one last despairing glance and stood up. Whistles and hoots rose from the crowd as the slave girl-Lipka-stepped gracefully off the throne, tits bouncing and wobbling. Head down, arms at her sides, Lipka strode toward the crowd. Jabba unwound her chain until she reached the full length of the leash, not quite close enough to the first man to touch. The spacer was a leering human whose eyes never moved from Lipka's ample chest. you seen my top? Lipka asked him in Huttese, head still down, arms at her sides. The crowd snickered as the spacer shook his head and grinned, "Sorry, baby. Haven't seen it." Lipka moved to the next courtier, and then the next, asking the same question and receiving the same answer, displaying her body for her master's guests. Behind Lipka, the guard Salah had injured was limping away, grunting in agony and helped by one of his comrades. Jabba gurgled in pleasure and gestured to the Gamorrean holding Salah against his throne. The guard pulled Salah's head up, drawing a pained gasp from her and forcing her to look directly at Jabba's mucus-covered face. SEEM TO HAVE BROKEN ONE OF MY GUARDS, PRETTY SALAH. WHAT SHOULD I DO ABOUT THAT? Jabba's fetid breath washed over Salah again, and she gagged. Salah's mind was racing. This might be her one way to escape whatever Jabba had in mind for her. "You saw what I can do. I'm really good at it. Let me keep working for you. I'm a lot more valuable out in space than I am down there." Salah looked at the doorway the rest of her crew had been forced through. Jabba leaned back slightly and took in a deep breath through his snot-covered nostrils. In the sudden silence, Salah could hear the Mirialan slave girl off to the left. you seen my top? After several agonizing heartbeats, Jabba let out a soft laugh, his breath once again spilling over Salah. The Gamorrean pushed her farther over the edge of the throne, throwing her off balance and bringing her head nearly into contact with Jabba's bloated belly. Stubby fingers played with her pony tail and then traced their way down to her cheek. HO HO. YOU'RE RIGHT, PRETTY SALAH. YOU *ARE* VALUABLE TO ME. The Hutt's deep baritone was the same patronizing tone of voice he used in addressing his slave girls, and a fresh wave of despair washed over Salah. Jabba's fingers twirled her ponytail again. I THINK THERE WILL BE A CHANGE IN YOUR EMPLOYMENT RESPONSIBILITIES. Fortuna snickered, stretching his long-nailed fingers out in Salah's direction, as if longing to touch her himself. you seen my top? Jabba cupped Salah's chin and pulled her head up so that she was gazing directly into his hideous face. HAVE LONG WANTED TO SEE MORE OF YOUR LOVELY BODY, PRETTY SALAHHHHH. As he stretched out the last syllable in the ecstasy of victory, Jabba's loathsome tongue spilled out of his mouth, sliding across his gullet with a *slurp* "Uughhhhh," Salah's legs buckled and she groaned in disgust and dread. Oh, spirits, he's going to...I'm going to be a...oh nononononono... you seen my top? Jabba glanced away from the trembling Salah and boomed a command to his Mirialan slave girl. UP STRAIGHT! LET THEM SEE YOUR TITS! Jabba blew saliva bubbles out of his cavernous mouth and looked back to Salah. HAVE BEEN OVER THIS SO MANY TIMES WITH HER. Salah shrank back into the torso of the Gamorrean holding her in place. "Please, no," She whispered. YES, PRETTY SALAH. Jabba looked up again. COORDINATOR! "Here, your Exaltedness." A slender, middle-aged red Twi'Lek woman strode forward. Salah recognized her immediately. The woman was Jabba's dance coordinator. Formerly a famous dancer, she had become involved with the galactic slave trade, running a dance school that funneled its graduates to Hutt crimelords across the galaxy. Now she worked for Jabba, keeping his harem stocked, performances choreographed, and his dancers in costumes fitting his fickle tastes And now I'm going to be one of them! Salah wanted to run, to make a grab for the guard's weapon, to do *something*, but her legs were frozen solid. The crowd surrounding the throne and dance floor was too large. She was utterly, completely alone. PRETTY SALAH BACK TO THE DANCERS PIT. CLEAN HER UP AND PUT HER IN THE OUTFIT WE DISCUSSED. I WANT HER READY FOR TONIGHT'S PARTY. "With pleasure, Your Exaltedness." The Twi'Lek dance coordinator glided across the floor to stand next to Salah. The mercenary looked to the older woman for help, support, anything, but found only cold, clinical eyes looking back. "Come with me." Salah let the Twi'Lek lead her away from Jabba, both of them shadowed by the pig guard. She could feel the Hutt's eyes on her body as they headed toward the entryway to the Dancers Hallway. Ahead of the two women, the wall of men parted as the assembled scum leered, whistled, and catcalled. "I can't wait to see that ass, baby!" One man yelled from behind her as they passed through the line. YOU TONIGHT, PRETTY SALAH. Jabba called after her, to laughter and applause. Somehow, through all the mocking and jeering, Salah heard one meek voice through all the clamor. It was the Mirialan slave girl, almost finished with her circuit of the room. you seen my top? Ch.4 (The Dancer's Pit) "Can you help me?" Salah leaned as far as she could toward the stately Twi'Lek dance coordinator. The Gamorrean guard shadowing them could probably still hear her whispers, but at this point Salah was desperate and didn't care. "I'll bring you ten girls after every job I do. I can set you up with some friends of mine on Dubrillion-" With shocking speed, the middle-aged Twi'Lek woman stopped, spun on her heel, and slapped Salah. The sharp sound echoed down the narrow hallway. Salah froze, hand on her stinging cheek. Tears welled in her eyes. After enduring all of the heckling of the crowd as she had been "escorted" out of Jabba's audience chamber, her despair couldn't be contained any longer. "His Exaltedness has given his commands. *Never* again suggest that I might disobey them." The dance coordinator pushed Salah forward once again and fell into step with her. "I *am* helping you, girl." The older woman's eyes ran up and down Salah's body as she walked. "The more you cooperate, the easier this will be for you." After a few more steps the trio reached a metal door carved into the rock of the palace hallway. They could only dimly hear the music, laughter, and the sounds of official business coming from the audience chamber at the end of the hall. The door was guarded by two scowling Weequay. The guards ignored the women but nodded to their Gamorrean comrade, who promptly turned around and shuffled back. A plastic sign had been crudely attached to the door: DANCERS PIT. Other than the pockmarked sign, the door was completely bare save for a small keypad. The hallway ended in a wall of stone just a few meters down. Salah had never been to this particular wing of the palace before; There was nothing else in this hall, and Jabba only let the most trusted or privileged into his slave girls' quarters. "This is your new home." The Twi'Lek's fingers tapped out a practiced code. With a rattle and groan, the door slid open. "Welcome to your new life, Salah." Prodded inside by the dance coordinator, Salah blinked away tears and stepped on wobbly legs into a large dressing room. The Dancers Pit was as dusty and grimy as everything else in the palace. A permanent cloud of hairspray and cosmetic chemicals hung in the air, making it difficult for Salah to breathe. Dozens of individual mirrors-there had to have been at least 40 total) lined the walls of the room. Seemingly each mirror was stained with dirt and debris but each also had a semi-functional individual light, a chair (even though styles and quality varied widely), and each station was stocked with cosmetics and beauty products. A half-dozen were occupied by young women (3 human, 2 Twi'Lek, and a Theelin) wearing the tiny g-string bikinis of Jabba's side-stage dancers and serving girls. Each of them looked up with expressions ranging from curiosity to nervousness as the dance coordinator strode in. "Where are the other new girls?" The dance coordinator demanded. One of the human slave girls, with short black hair and almond eyes, spoke up in a meek voice, "They are in the living room, Madame." The dance coordinator nodded curtly and gestured Salah forward. Head spinning, the mercenary (no, slave girl) followed her automatically. The six women in the dressing room turned back to their makeup and hair styling. "This is your new home," the dance coordinator spoke in the practiced tones of one who had given the same speech hundreds of times. "When you are not in the audience chamber, on your shift, or with His Exaltedness, you will be here. Sleeping areas, bathing areas, and exercise and rehearsal rooms are all in this wing of the palace." Salah followed the Twi'Lek through the dressing room and into another narrow, musty hallway. "The door to your left leads to the dormitory. When your sleep time comes, find an open bed. There is no personal property here. Everything belongs to His Excellency, including you." Deep down, Salah recognized that this rapid-fire "orientation" was designed to keep her confused and docile. She had used the same techniques in Jabba's various protection rackets. She tried to break the cycle. "But I don't-" Salah's interruption earned her another spin and slap from the dance coordinator. This time, however Salah's reflexes kicked in and she deflected the blow with her wrist. The dance coordinator bristled, shoved Salah's hand down, and then leaned directly into her newest slave's face. "DO NOT speak to me unless I address you directly. You had best accept what has happened to you. Even if you get past the guards outside, the whole palace would like nothing better than to rape you over and over and over until there's nothing left." The Twi'Lek spread her arms, pointing to the dingy hallway around them. "You are a slave now. This is your haven. I will forget your insolence for the last time." With that, the dance coordinator continued her tour. "This door to the right leads to bathing and refresher facilities. The open entry at the end of the hall leads to the rehearsal and exercise room. You will see all of those later." The red Twi'Lek led Salah back through the dressing room and to a second hallway, stopping before an alcove set with a set of six stairs, revealing a larger room beyond. "This is the common room. The others are all in here. You will wait." "Wait here for what?" Salah was thirsty, emotionally and physically exhausted. She just wanted to sit down, rest, and figure out what the hells had just happened to her. The dance coordinator hissed at her, shoved the door open, and pulled Salah inside. "You will wait." The woman was gone before Salah could turn around. Sighing, she finally took a moment to take stock of the situation. The common room was just as dingy and outdated as the rest of the Dancers Pit. Several couches were spread haphazardly around the room. A broken, flickering screen on the far side of the room showed an old Corellian holodrama. Datapads, dog-eared paper magazines, puzzles, and board games covered rickety plastic tables. Nearly 20 young women of various species milled around the room, wearing just sports bras and shorts, mostly split among their various species. Two terrified-looking Twi'Leks sat on one of the couches, surrounded by four others, the group communicating through soft whispers lekku twitches. "Salah?" A soft voice called from a corner of the room. Just like with the Twi'Leks, two young human girls sat on a long couch, with 5 women standing before them. The one who spoke to Salah was facing her. With a start, Salah recognized her as the redheaded serving girl who had poured her wine back in the audience chamber. The serving girl still wore her g-string bikini; modesty was probably not a concern here. To be honest, Salah felt more self-conscious wearing her tank top and combat pants in this room than any of the scantily-clad slaves. "Come sit down over here." This time, the exhausted Salah did not protest. She threw herself onto the couch next to the two other girls. The girl next to Salah was sobbing quietly. A wave of weariness washed over the former mercenary. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, still in shock at how suddenly everything had changed. "I...I'm sorry you're here." The red headed slave cupped her hands together, unsure of how to interact with Salah now that the haughty mercenary she once served was now a fellow slave. "Got any more wine?" Salah muttered, tired of fighting back the urge to cry like the young girl next to her. "We have wine, spice, and other things to help with our...jobs. But you can't have them until Mistress says it's okay." "Of course." Salah glanced at the two crying women next to her. "I take it you're new here, too." The redhead answered for both of them, "They just came today." She looked over at the couch occupied by the Twi'Leks. "So did they. All of them from the Madame's school." "I got a scholarship." The girl sitting next to Salah spoke up. "For Chandrillan Ballet." She looked at Salah with red, tear-dampened eyes. "I'm Nurali." Nurali was built much like Salah, lithe, but without as much muscle as Salah, befitting a ballet dancer. Her hair was a similar shade of dark brown, though Nurali's eyes were dark, in contrast to Salah's striking green. Her hair was long than Salah's should-length hair, falling in beautiful waves to the middle of her back. Nurali couldn't have been much more than 20 Standard Years old. "Hi, Nurali." Salah felt a strange sense of relief at having someone to share this horrifying experience with. For just a moment, she didn't feel quite so alone. "I'm Salah." A blonde human slave girl brought over cups of water, and the three women drank. The common room was eerily quiet; even the holodrama was on very low volume. None of the slave girls knew what to say or do around the new arrivals. Given the rate of turnover among Jabba's captive women, they had probably been newcomers themselves. Salah turned to ask another question, one of the many bouncing through her mind, but the dance coordinator suddenly reappeared, striding into the common room to stand directly in front of Salah. "You," she pointed at Salah. "We have two hours until the nightly festivities begin, and we have that much time to make you pretty for His Excellency. Let's go." As Salah peeled herself off the couch, the Twi'Lek woman regarded Nurali with narrowed, concentrating eyes. "Yes, you two would make a great duo. I'll present you both to the Master. He'll like the surprise." Nurali looked at the other slave girls in confusion, prompting a snap of the dance coordinator's fingers. "NOW, girl!" Nurali sprang to her feet and followed Salah and the Twi'Lek back into the central hallway. "I hope you two get along," the dance coordinator said as they headed for the door marked "BATHING." "Because you'll probably spend the rest of your lives together." I'm a slave now. Salah could not recognize the woman who stared back at her through the clouded mirror. Salah the Mercenary, the Silent Beauty of her home city, never had the time or the inclination to wear makeup or dress her hair in fashionable styles. The woman looking back from the mirror in the dressing room of Jabba the Hutt's Dancers Pit, however, was Salah the Slave. I'm a whore A group of human slave girls had taken Salah and Nurali into the bathing area, where a tub full of lukewarm water was waiting for each. With hesitant hands (none of the slave girls seemed to know what to do with her), two girls undressed Salah, piling her clothes into a corner of the room. They washed and shaved the two girls, eyes sad and mournful as they remembered their own initiation into Jabba's harem. I just hope I find out which slime-covered corner of the galaxy you die in, her aunt had snarled as Salah left home for good over a decade ago. Now almost 30, Salah wondered if this kind of fate had ever crossed her aunt's mind. Salah had tried to talk to Nurali as slave girls gently shaved their legs, only to receive a "shhh" and a shake of the head from the girl wielding the razor. "Wait to talk. Madame is still outside." So the baths ended in silence. Once the girls were dried off, they were wrapped in towels and bundled back to the dressing room, past the dance coordinator, who was observing what sounded like rehearsal for the night's dance numbers. The slave girls dropped Salah and Nurali into adjacent chairs in front of mirrors and set to work drying and styling hair and applying makeup. As the impromptu stylists worked, a loud rap came from the door to the palace hallway. A guard shoved the door open, and an assistant from Jabba's kitchens (Salah recognized him from several card games) pushed a tray of food through the entryway. "Good evening, lovelies!" The man's high-pitched voice grated Salah's ears. "Dinner time!" The oily-skinned human swept his eyes around the slave girls scattered across the dressing room. Even wrapped in her towel, Salah felt naked as his lecherous eyes fell on her. "Lookin' good there, Salah!" The kitchen assistant's hand subconsciously touched his groin, "Can't wait to see what's under that towel tonight!" He finished unloading his plates of food and turned to go as the guard ushered him out. "Bye, Salah baby!" "I don't understand," Nurali whimpered as the redheaded serving girl ran a brush through her hair. Both women chewed on overripe pieces of fruit deposited by the kitchen aide, but neither was very hungry. "I was on an audition...but they...put me in the speeder..." "And I thought I was about to head out on another job for Jabba." Salah closed her eyes to allow her attendant to put on eye shadow. "You worked for...for him?" "My boss did, at least. Turns out His Excellency didn't like my boss embezzling from him. He locked up my crew and sent me here." I wonder where Jehmes is. Is he okay? Nurali leaned in toward Salah, her dark eyes wide. "So you've seen him? You know him?" Salah nodded as much as she could with hands pawing all over her head. "Why does he do this?" Nurali gestured to the dressing room, which was filling up with slave girls preparing for the night's party. There was a low murmur of conversation, but the room was still eerily quiet for the number of young women present. Hairspray quickly clouded the air as the girls from species with hair added touches to their styles. Salah didn't know which was worse: to know exactly what Jabba did to his girls or to be filled with uncertainty, fear, and desperate hope, as Nurali was. "I don't know. Just stay close to me. We'll get through tonight." Salah couldn't believe what she was saying. She'd seen dozens of slave girls like Nurali come to the palace. They spent the few remaining days of their lives frightened and humiliated before being fed to the rancor for disappointing Jabba or being given to his guards as a reward. But Nurali was the only human connection Salah had left. "It is time for their costumes." Salah managed to keep from jumping (long experience at work, there), but Nurali could not suppress a slight *squeak* in surprise at the sound of the dance coordinator's voice. Salah couldn't blame her at all. That bitch is a quiet one. Ch.5 (Presentation) As Salah evaluated the costume the slave girls had dressed her in, she found herself strangely relieved. Well, this could be a lot worse. Salah had spent more than enough time in Jabba's palace to known how simple his tastes were in womens' clothes: the less fabric, the better. The slave girls surrounding Salah and Nurali in the now-bustling dressing room spoke to that taste. Serving girls in their tiny g-string bikinis, dancing girls in a wider variety of outfits, from sling bikinis to tiny skirts to fishnet bodysuits. And finally the girls chosen for the night's feature performance, wearing more elaborate (but just as revealing) showgirl costumes. As soon as the dance coordinator had tossed Salah and Nurali's costumes down in front of them, Salah realized they were destined to be dancing girls. The costume Salah now wore was all black, consisting of a series of cloth straps. Two straps crossed her waist, showing off her tight midriff. Two more bracketed her breasts, one above and one below. Salah's small but firm mounds were contained by a see-through piece of mesh. It was a classic Jabba wardrobe choice. The more fabric actually covering a girl's body, the more likely her nipples were to be exposed. Still, the setup was oddly supportive. Another strap ran across her hips, holding up a thing made of similar see-through material, leaving her ass cheeks bare. Two vertical straps from her hips to her shoulders held the whole outfit together, and thigh-high leather boots and garters completed her look. Salah shifted on her tattered chair (she had always hated thongs..so uncomfortable) and glanced over at Nurali. The former ballet dancer was dressed similarly to Salah. Nurali wore a lace bodysuit that, while covering her breasts (smaller than Salah's, their bath together had revealed), left her midriff visible through the mesh fabric and culminated in a tiny thong. Nurali also wore knee-high leather boots and garters. There were more slave girls in the dressing room than chairs by that point. The air was choked with hairspray (for those species with hair) and cosmetics. Nearly-naked bodies squeezed past Salah as the clock ticked down to Jabba's next party. Although an occasional giggle would escape from the background noise of conversation, the mood was dour. As Salah looked around, she spotted several girls taking long hits of spice and other narcotics. Shortly before the chronograph on the dressing room wall reached the time set for Jabba's party to begin, the door opened again and the dance coordinator glided through. She clapped her hands once, and the entire dressing room went silent. "Servers!" Without a word, the bikini-clad girls stood up and filed out, taking last glances into the mirrors as they went. Once they had gone, the red Twi'Lek woman stepped into the middle of the floor and addressed the remaining slave girls; the dancing girls, the feature dancers, and the six new arrivals, including Salah and Nurali. "The Exalted One is in a good mood tonight. Dance well for him, and you will be rewarded." The older woman turned to the new girls, "Each new arrival will be presented to His Excellency personally." You will line up at the entrance to his audience chamber, and present yourself personally to him. When he gives his approval, return back here." The dance coordinator looked directly at Salah and smirked. "Unless, of course, he instructs you otherwise." "If His Exaltedness accepts you," the red Twi'Lek continued to the room, "your...orientation...begins tomorrow." With that, the dance coordinator cocked her head, listening to something outside the Dancers Pit. "It is time. Follow me. Dancing girls first, then newcomers, then the features." Salah's gut churned as she stood up, absently tugging at her thong. She had always hated thongs. They buried themselves in her ass and were never comfortable. Plus, she could already feel her nipples hardening in the cool air, sticking through the mesh fabric of her "top." Next to her, Nurali was taking one last look in the mirror, her chest heaving with deep breaths. Salah took her hand. "Let's get through this." The dance coordinator led the line of barely-dressed women into the hallway. From the beckoning entryway to Jabba's audience chamber, Salah could hear the sounds of lounge music, excited conversation, and Jabba's characteristic belches and rumbles. The line stopped a couple of meters from the archway; enough to stay out of the light. Peeking out from behind one of the new Twi'Lek arrivals, Salah could see the makings of a large crowd; the scum she had spent so much time around, fondling the bare legs of passing serving girls and settling in for the night's feast. Another excited rumble came from Jabba. The Hutt was outside Salah's field of view, but the deep voice may as well have been right next to her. What's he going to do to me? FOR MY DANCERS! The dancing girls ahead of Salah and the new arrivals surged forward in resigned unison, each girl hustling to her assigned side stage or place on the floor. A lusty cheer came up from the crowd, and the band kicked into a sultry tune. Over a dozen slave girls began writhing on poles or showing off their bodies to drooling males. Nurali clutched Salah's arm and retched. Bib Fortuna, Jabba's slimy majordomo, appeared in the doorway and leered at the remaining girls. "Introductions at the end of this song," he grinned at the dance coordinator, "Save Salah for last." The first song ended to raucous applause, and the dance coordinator turned to the six new girls. "When I call your name, come to me and present yourselves to His Exaltedness, and stay with me until he releases us," the Twi'Lek glared down the line, "Remember: Please him." With that, she whirled around and strutted to the center of the floor, just behind the viewing grille, to where Fortuna was waiting, and bowed deeply. "Mighty Jabba," she declared in a clear, strong voice, "I bring you six lovely ladies, each one of them prepared and ready prepared and ready for your entertainment." Salah heard the *slap slap slap* of Jabba's pudgy hands clapping. She had seen several of these "introductions" before, and unconsciously adjusted her thong yet again as she fought with the Pit in her stomach. YOU, INANTE'RIMA. I AM READY TO MEET YOUR BEAUTIES. The dance coordinator (Inante'Rima) rose and pointed to the tunnel containing the six trembling slave girls. "Your High Exaltedness, feast your eyes on the lovely Koyi." With a heartbeat's hesitation, the green Twi'Lek at the head of the line stepped forward into light. She was of the green-skinned variety, dressed in the g-string of a serving girl, with average height and breasts but a plump ass. The crowd whistled and clapped in appreciation as Koyi took her place in the center of the floor. The other two Twi'Leks, both clad in dancing costumes, went next. Then the dark-skinned human serving girl, until only Nurali and Salah remained. "Next, Mighty Jabba, is a lovely morsel, trained in classic ballet. Here is the delicate Nurali." Salah watched Nurali walk into the audience chamber to the catcalls and applause of the audience, and she Nurali recoil in instinctive horror as the poor girl gazed upon her master for the first time. As Jabba examined Nurali, Salah closed her eyes and steadied herself, awaiting the moment she had been dredding for hours. "My last beauty is prepared specially for your Excellency. Might Jabba, as your requested, here is the pretty Salah!"